


The Crushing Beauty of the Cosmos

by KatieDingo



Category: Last Tango In Halifax
Genre: F/F, Fluffity fluff, Fluffy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2020-10-11 11:57:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20545793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieDingo/pseuds/KatieDingo
Summary: A series of short, fluffy vignettes in which Caroline and Gillian realise the depth of their connection. Set afterFriday Night Dinners,but easily read without this precursor revealing how C&G become girlfriends. Inspired in part byAnywhere, Anytimeby Beau Taplin





	1. Falling for someone isn’t a process

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caroline and Gillian go shopping in the dark and realise that falling for someone isn’t a process.

The gale force winds galloped in front of the storm, bringing down trees and power lines before the drenching rain that was due to drown the landscape. Most people were smart enough to have accumulated supplies to last them through the deluge, but Caroline and Gillian were stuck with family descending upon them and last-minute groceries were needed from the closest shop they could find.

Gillian pulled up in the empty parking lot and they sat in the LandRover gazing at the dark edifice that was normally a small but brightly lit supermarket.

“Is it open?” Caroline was wondering about her wine; she could feel the itch under her fingertips as the horror of dealing with the extended family for what could be days ran down her spine.

“Looks like. They don’t have power so the registers will be down.” Gillian peered into the darkness, spying the dim lights at the back of the store seeping gloomily towards the front. “They’ll have a backup generator or something but we’ll be fine if we have cash.” She turned to Caroline, asking, “I’ve got some, but do you have much on you?”

“Probably enough for what we need.” Hesitantly Caroline stepped down out of the aged 4WD into the gale and wrangled the empty shopping bags flapping about in her wake. Leaning into the wind as they trudged towards the open doors, Caroline became less convinced that this was a good plan. “Are you sure about this? I’m sure we’re not supposed to be going in there. We’re not going to be trapped inside are we?”

“Come on, it’s going to be fun!” Gillian insisted, grabbing Caroline’s hand and pulling her through the gaping doors, the alarm still quietly chirping it’s warning of the power outage.

“I don’t understand what can be fun about being trapped in a supermarket,” she whined, not entirely up for the ‘fun’ that Gillian could envisage in a darkened death trap that was starting to creep her out. “At least we won’t starve to death,” she bitched quietly.

Ignoring the comment, Gillian dragged her along until they found the shopping trolleys and she passed one to Caroline, “There you go. Push that,” she said with a grin.

The glare Caroline threw at her didn’t phase Gillian at all. In her element in a supermarket, Gillian nearly skipped down the empty aisles, followed by a disgruntled partner who was running through all the health and safety violations in her head. No lit exit signs — check. No emergency lighting — check. No staff — check. The only things that seemed to be working were the fridges casting an eerie glow of neon which set off a surreal shimmer along the ceiling and floors, giving the back of the store a sickly green hue. She was starting to think she’d stepped into one of those alien horror films Gillian made her watch and had visions of them being gruesomely murdered for entertainment.

While Caroline pushed the trolley, Gillian bounced from shelf to shelf in the semi-dark, plucking off items and dropping them into the cart. Caroline could barely read the writing on some of the objects, but Gillian either had better eyesight or simply knew the stock from working in a minimart over on the other side of the valley. Caroline decided she’d let Gillian have at it.

A lanky staff member appeared at the end of the aisle, his pimply face lit by a candle as he wandered towards them. As he approached, Gillian stepped next to Caroline, protectively laying a hand on her shoulder, enjoying their close proximity as Caroline’s musky perfume filled the space between them.

“My boss said to say sorry, but the generator only has enough power for the fridges at the moment. She said to give you one of these.” He tentatively pushed the candle in their direction as if any sudden movement would cause it to self-destruct.

Gillian took hold of it, thanking the young lad as he lurched back down the aisle, legs too long and too new to be quite under control. She dripped some wax onto the handle of the trolley and then embedded the base of the candle into the cooling liquid until it held.

“There you go. Light to travel by,” she chuckled. Standing back to examine her handiwork, Gillian was struck by the flickering of light across Caroline’s face, her smooth, pale complexion a canvas primed for Caravaggio. Gillian held her breath, the realisation that the crushing beauty of the cosmos could be held entirely in a single moment was suddenly apparent. The mundane had become ethereal.

The gap in time created by that thought was followed another, equally as profound; Caroline — the grumpy, uptight, 48 year old — had overcome her reservations and her fear of the unknown and followed Gillian blindly into the dark. A warmth blossomed from her heart and she could feel it tingling when it reached her fingertips. She realised then that falling for a person wasn’t a process but happened in a moment. She had trouble breathing.

Caroline watched Gillian as a panoply of emotions travelled across her light frame with speed until only one remained. Gillian raised her hand and gently held the side of Caroline’s face, her thumb caressing the soft cheek, her face open and tender. “You are so beautiful. So beautiful.” She slowly reached up to lightly rest her lips upon Caroline’s, the touch potent with emotion. She pulled back to see Caroline’s attention flicking from her lips to her eyes, a gentle smile growing as she gazed at Gillian.

“What was that for?” Caroline asked, eyebrows rising under her blonde fringe.

“Dunno. Just felt like it.”

“Okay.” The smile on Caroline’s face spread for a moment, followed by a small smirk which twinkled in her eyes. “Shall we finish the shopping?”

“Sure.” Gillian reluctantly released Caroline and sauntered down the aisle, the slow strut highlighting the shape of her arse, knowing Caroline would be watching. And of course Caroline was. It was one of the joys of Caroline’s life watching Gillian’s swaying bottom. There was rarely a time when it wasn’t one of the highlights of her day. She sighed happily, amused that Gillian felt like playing and she unconsciously let go of some of her difficult day to join in.

Caroline chuckled to herself and merrily rolled the trolley forward, forsaking some of the shopping for the simple pleasure of following the farmer and her arse around the aisles. As Caroline rounded the corner, she could see Gillian reaching for cereal on the top shelf. Abandoning the trolley, Caroline stealthily came up behind Gillian and reached over the top to pull the box into her hand.

Gillian gasped, the sudden physical presence of Caroline threatening to tip her over the edge. Heart starting to race, she turned towards Caroline to find she was right behind her, subtly pushing her into the shelving.

“Need a hand?” Caroline whispered into her ear, the breath tickling her neck.

Gillian gulped. “No. No, nope. I’m fine.”

“Okay. Just checking,” Caroline grinned, satisfyingly smug as she turfed the cereal box into the trolley from where they were and strolled with her hands on her hips into the dark towards the front of the shop. Watching the performance, Gillian decided it was more of a swagger — yep, definitely a swagger — the sashaying mesmerising Gillian to a standstill. Caroline slowed and turned, waiting for Gillian to catch up, the glee obvious even in the dim light. She chuckled when it took Gillian another few seconds to move and even more time to work out where the trolley was and collect it. It was such a delicious joy to be able to fry her girlfriend’s brain, just a little bit.

Gillian, not to be outdone, pranced down the aisle, doing a conga line of one behind the trolley, inspiring a full belly laugh from Caroline. As she danced past, she landed a gentle pat on Caroline’s backside and kept on going, sailing into the distance with the flickering candle highlighting threads of her hair as she kicked at the end of each set.

Caroline followed, enjoying the spectacle, so tantalising in private and now possible in a darkened and almost empty store. She rarely let herself play, but Gillian pushed and cajoled her into it and she loved it more than she let on. When she caught up to Gillian, she got into step behind her and grabbed her hips, dancing around the end of the aisle together, giggling all the while.

The moment they turned the corner Gillian stopped and Caroline crashed into her. The manager stood before them, not at all amused by two middle-aged women playing sillybuggers in the blackout. Gillian snorted; Caroline blushed, relieved that it wouldn’t be obvious in the low light.

“S-sorry. We were...we were just...” Gillian mumbled.

“We’re closing in a moment. Doesn’t look like the power’s coming back on anytime soon apparently.”

Caroline took over. “Okay. We’ll be finished in a few minutes.”

The manager nodded and grumpily strode away, although the stomping wasn’t nearly as effective in the dark holding a candle as she might have liked. Gillian chuckled. “Well that was fun. I told you we’d have fun.” She gently elbowed Caroline in the ribs.

“I stand corrected. You were absolutely right.” Caroline watched the manager disappear into the back of the store and turned to Gillian, delighted to be on their own again. Caroline knew there’d be a pile of people waiting for them at home and it would be hours before they would be free of company and able to play, so she made the most of the time they had now. She leaned in and waited for Gillian to turn her head before kissing her, lips soft and pliable, sliding her fingers into Gillian’s hair for more purchase. Gillian moaned quietly, parting her lips to allow Caroline entry, the flood of warmth through her body setting everything aflame and she arched into Caroline, wrapping arms around her to hold on. After a minute or so, Caroline straightened and sighed wistfully, gazing into Gillian’s eyes with a crooked grin. “This was a lot of fun. Let’s do this again when there’s another storm.”

* * *

_Anywhere, Anytime_ by Beau Taplin, from _Worlds of You,_ 2017  
_Telescopes_ by Beau Taplin, from Worlds of You, 2017

_Friday Night Fights_ prompt #595 from @promptsforthestrugglingauthor

Thank you to my beta reader for your kind and thoughtful feedback.


	2. You can’t plan for it in advance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caroline and Gillian go to the doctor and Caroline realises that Gillian always makes it better.

Caroline ticks the boxes that define her current self on the doctor’s intake form. Mentally the Head Teacher plays with ridiculous options for the joy of it: anything to liven up her slow afternoon with some cerebral gymnastics... 5 ft tall basketball player... one-eyed bus driver? She isn’t sure why her GP needs to know her occupation, but she dutifully fills out the form in her neat script.

A private smile breaks out on the blonde’s face — asthmatic libretto? — as she hands over the clipboard to the receptionist, who appears to be so focused on chewing gum that Caroline wonders if there is room for any other thoughts in the brightly coloured head. She suspects that it might be too great an intellectual feat for the young woman to simultaneously masticate and keep her mouth closed, before the receptionist switches her focus and scans the ticked boxes.

“A lesbian?” The loud gum-chewing stops for a moment. “Well you certainly don’t look like one.” Prurient interest perks up the lime-green eyebrows under the vivid red hair. “Give me some fancy details about the past, something so weirdly specific no one but someone who lived it would know.”

Caroline blanches, a wave of hot embarrassment washes over her and she freezes, clutching her bag tightly like it’s going to protect her from ignominy. She hates that she still feels like this. She hates her internalised homophobia but when it catches her unprepared she still has to dig deep and persuade herself that she’s okay, just as she is. It takes effort and Caroline grips her bag even tighter as she gathers her courage, along with a dose of outrage that she needs to defend herself yet again. Overreaction is always going to follow the indignation of being outed unexpectedly.

“I only came out of the closet in 2012; what do you want from me? A rendition of We Are Family? My feelings about the movie Desert Hearts? A photo of the Annie Lennox poster from my teenage bedroom wall? Give me a fucking break.” Caroline spits out the last part with venom, her ire well and truly raised.

The receptionist’s mouth drops open, the well-dressed, middle-aged woman with the good-mother haircut in front of her a shocking source of such vitriol and foul language.

“Right. If that’s all you need from me, I’ll be over there,” Caroline states bluntly, pointing to the slim brunette sitting in a row of pale wooden chairs that may well have been ordered in bulk from the local IKEA warehouse, along with the rest of the intentionally inoffensive furnishings. She turns back to the receptionist who is congealed with shock into cognitive stasis. Her outburst having hit home, Caroline lowers her voice to a normal level, the tone cutting. “I presume you’ll let me know when Doctor Habib is ready to see me.” She waits for some semblance of brain function to return to the red head, indicated by a slight nod, before moving.

Caroline turns and marches over to the corner of the room where Gillian sits — torn flannel shirt and jeans-covered legs that jiggle nervously — with an amused smile that plays on her face.

“You right there, Gladiator? Sure she got the point?” Gillian asks with an amused smirk. “Having a moment are we?”

“Oh, shut up.” Caroline sits with a huff, annoyed at being sprung by her partner for what she knows is ridiculous behaviour. As an adult she should have more self control but this has always been her weak spot. She sighs, her brittle arrogance deflating as it does when punctured by Gillian’s easygoing humour.

Gillian leans in. “Perhaps she’s thinking about you having sex.”

“Oh Christ. I bloody hope not.” Caroline turns to look at her sharply. “Why would you think that?”

Gillian smirks, the prodding of her conservative partner too much fun to avoid. “Doesn’t everyone when you tell them you’re a lesbian?”

Caroline grimaces in response. “Probably.” She thinks about it for a moment before whining, “I can’t help it if that’s the first thing straight people think of when... when I tell them.”

“Do you think she wants to watch?”

Caroline looks at her horrified for a moment before bursting into raucous laughter. Gillian laughs with her, the sight of Caroline genuinely happy for a moment filling her with joy. When Caroline finally catches her breath, her first word is quiet. “Bitch.”

Gillian chuckles. “Caz, you know I love winding you up.”

Caroline raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Yeah. Far too often for my liking.”

“You make it so easy, and it is such fun.” Gillian smiles tenderly. She reaches over and pulls Caroline’s hand into her lap, squeezing it supportively. Caroline closes her eyes, letting Gillian’s comforting presence be a balm, leaning towards her partner with the inescapable draw towards calm. She rests her head on Gillian’s shoulder, the hard muscles not a soft resting place but one she commonly finds at the end of the day.

It is in this space, in a gap between appointments, that Caroline realises this is something she couldn’t plan for in advance, this attachment that draws her to Gillian. She likens it to the strong nuclear force that binds the universe, overcoming the opposing forces of their strong wills to bring them together. This attraction, this distraction, only works when they are close. Once apart it is too easy to slip further away, but when they are close it inexorably pulls them into orbit around one another. It is in this moment of quiet reflection that she sees the gift of their connection, the depth of her love for the woman beside her.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a voice calling her name.

Her eyes blink open and she sits up. Gathering herself together to meet the new GP, she glances at Gillian, whose soft eyes reveal the gentleness that is so easy to overlook. They share a second which separates them from time and from the rest of the world. Gillian always makes her feel better. Caroline smiles warmly, squeezes Gillian’s hand and lets her go. She stands, gathers her bag and walks towards the GP, her universe righted for the day.

* * *

_Anywhere, Anytime_ by Beau Taplin, from _Worlds of You,_ 2017  
_Friday Night Fights_ 9/13 - writing prompt #836 from @promptsforthestrugglingauthor


	3. or anticipate it’s arrival

The sun bathed the valley in a yellow warmth and tried to counteract the chill that remained in the air after the night’s rain. It was early enough that water glistened magically on the grass and the morning had all the makings of a beautiful day. Raff walked past the ewes in the front paddock, a bit surprised that his mum hadn’t already mustered them into the yards ready for drenching — his job for the day. He knew his mum and Caroline had been out for dinner and he could still see her car in the courtyard; perhaps they’d had a late one.

He opened the front door, expecting to hear his mum rattling around in the kitchen in the slight frenzy of someone running late. Instead it was quiet as he closed the door behind him. He walked into the living room and surveyed the chaos of empty champagne bottles on the coffee table along with assorted glasses and the odd bit of clothing. It was seeing a black lacy bra hanging off the computer by the window that illustrated the final chapter of the evening. He shuddered. He wasn’t ever going to be ready for that.

An unexpected snore temporarily drowned out the metronomic ticking from the clock on the mantelpiece. He chuckled, thinking one of them had probably passed out on the couch. He peered over the back of it and his mouth dropped open. Caroline was on her back and his mum lay draped over her, their heads touching and Caroline’s arm was wrapped around the smaller woman. Both were naked. He swallowed, the embarrassment of finding his mum in the raw even more horrifying than the thought of Caroline. He’d never been so thankful for the stripy blanket that covered the bulk of their bodies but he was still worried his eyeballs would never recover from witnessing the bits that were on display. He squeezed his eyes shut. There were things better for a son not to know.

Opening his eyes again and keeping them firmly above their shoulders, he stole another glance at Caroline. He was not used to seeing Caroline so unguarded, and the impulse to stare in a way that he couldn’t when she was awake was too tempting. There was something very sweet about the way they nestled into one another, with Caroline’s arm protectively holding his mum close. He watched his mum’s breathing, the slow rhythm of it an indication of her normally fidgety body at rest. He smiled to himself, allowing her this moment of peace before he woke her. He looked up to find piercing blue eyes observing him and he let out a startled cry.

“Shit!”

“Good morning Raff.”

“Shit. Sorry. Thought you were sleeping.”

Caroline regarded him intently, her eyes never leaving his. She ignored his statement, instead asking, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to help Mum with the sheep.”

“What’s time is it?”

“Early. About 7.” Raff shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable under the constant and direct scrutiny from Caroline.

“I thought you weren’t coming until this afternoon?”

He cleared his throat. “There were a change of plan. Did me mum not tell you?”

Caroline screwed up her face at this, being wrong footed and exposed never something she would plan. “No, well...” She sighed. “No.”

The vibration from Caroline’s chest as she spoke had started the process of wakefulness for the sheep farmer they were discussing. An indistinct mumble happened at the same time as Gillian shifted her body.

“Gillian?” Caroline squeezed her gently. “Wake up.” She looked up at Raff who studied them with a quiet fascination. He’d never seen his mum so calm. She looked so happy wrapped up in Caroline’s arms, and there was a sense of shared strength that was also visible. She had always exuded a nervous tension around Robbie and the others, but today she looked completely relaxed.

Caroline watched him watching his mum and she wondered if there was something he needed to see; needed to understand. It was with the same generosity of spirit she gave her own sons that she let him into their private moment of waking up. “Gillian, my love, it’s time to wake up.”

Gillian groaned as she moved blindly to stroke one of Caroline’s cheeks with the palm of her hand while gently kissing the other. She hummed quietly.

“I missed you while I was asleep.” Still with her eyes closed, Gillian kissed Caroline’s face again before snuggling closer into her lover. She stroked the soft down of Caroline’s cheek, enjoying the texture of it as much as the comfort of their connection. It had often been like that; she hadn’t been able to imagine this gentleness was possible or anticipate it’s arrival and she treasured these half awake moments before the pressures of the day descended upon her shoulders.

What struck Raff was the tenderness between them. It seemed so different from the liaisons between his mum and her previous lovers and it gave him a new appreciation for the impact Caroline had on her life. It was a revelation of sorts; the last few minutes had told him more about his mum’s relationship with Caroline than he’d understood in the last six months.

Embarrassed by witnessing such intimacy he turned and quietly opened the door. The blast of cold air as he escaped into the chilly sunshine was felt this time by the the two women.

“Bloody hell!” Gillian was quick to shift her legs and arms under the blanket, hunting for the warmth, wreaking havoc on the couch.

“Ow! Christ Gillian,” Caroline grumbled, “You want to be careful with those elbows of yours. You don’t want them damaging bits you were so keen on last night, do you?”

“Sorry.” Gillian chuckled ruefully, her arms finally settling as she raised her head to look at Caroline. “I’ll kiss them better if you like.”

Caroline smirked. “Not right now you twat.” She kissed Gillian softly on the lips. “Did you forget Raff was coming this morning?”

“Oh. Bollocks.” Gillian dropped her head onto Caroline’s chest.

Caroline chuckled. “I want to tell you something. I doubt you’re going to like it.”

“Don’t tell me something you’re going to regret.”

“Nope. Your son watched you wake up.” Caroline’s smile was wry but her eyes were gentle.

“No.” Gillian stared at her. “No, no, no. He didn’t.”

“Oh, he did.”

“No!”

“Yep.” Caroline grinned. “He was treated to all of it this morning. I did try to tell you but...”

“And you let him!”

“Yep.”

“You knob!”

Caroline laughed, the brightness and volume of it reaching Raff as he waited patiently for his mum to get up. He smiled contentedly as he faced the morning sun. It really was going to be a good day.

* * *

“I want to tell you something.”  
“Don’t tell me something you’re going to regret.”  
_Last Tango in Halifax_, S02E05, by Sally Wainwright, 2014

_Anywhere, Anytime_ by Beau Taplin, from Worlds of You, 2017


	4. Love strikes in single moments.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gillian takes Caroline to a posh restaurant for their birthday.

The white, linen table cloths and starched dinner napkins are adorned with gleaming silver cutlery in the French restaurant, lifting the level of pretension to just below one of the Louis’. As Caroline follows Gillian deeper into the room she notices the velvety wallpaper, a dark red reminiscent of bloody feasts and bloodier wars. The room exudes privilege and the assumption is clear; if you can afford to eat here, you aren’t going to feel the impact of the outrageous bill at the end of the night.

Caroline sits carefully as Gillian pushes in her chair with a mixture of tender care and butch performance. The sommelier waits for Gillian to sit before offering her the wine list, condescension dripping from his voice as he mansplains his way through the reds. Gillian’s knee starts an incessant fidget, a precursor to the indigestion she knows is coming. It is Caroline who saves her. Of course.

“Would you like me to choose something?” she offers gently.

Gillian nods and hands over the wine list. “Yeah. Y-you know what we like.”

Caroline opens the thick folder, gives the list a cursory glance and picks a lower priced red, bold enough to be fun but hopefully not too much of a problem for Gillian’s wallet. She hands the folder to the sommelier, purposefully ignoring him while beaming an effervescent smile at the farmer sitting opposite.

Caroline hadn’t known what Gillian had planned for the evening. Gillian had said to dress, “Posh, like Oxford posh not Harrogate posh. For your birthday,” and here they are, with Gillian threatening to jiggle them into the next table, nervousness radiating from her as she sweats in her best dress.

As the waiter pours the wine, Caroline can only guess how many months Gillian must have saved for this, scrimping on things both important and less so until she had enough for tonight. While Caroline is at home in posh restaurants, this isn’t what she wants from Gillian. Caroline would be happier dining at the local pub, snottily bitching about the sub-standard wine, because knowing Gillian is comfortable provides a greater enjoyment than any fancy food — although she’ll always have trouble walking past a succulent, perfectly-pinked piece of lamb on a bed of mash.

Caroline rests her hand on the table, palm up, offering refuge. Gillian places her hand within, the gentle folding together of fingers a subtle and sensual connection. Caroline watches as stillness filters through Gillian, settling like ballast, anchoring her before she capsizes.

The extending of a hand, the proffering of trust is so simple and yet so readily accepted that it shifts Caroline on her axis. It is only now that Caroline is starting to understand that for Gillian, trust is the basis for love. Love strikes in single moments and it is with sharp clarity that Caroline sees just how much Gillian is prepared to sacrifice for her, what she is prepared to risk. Tears fill her eyes and it is with dismay, trying to catch them before they fall, that Caroline realises the linen napkins with a 600 thread count are not even vaguely absorbent. For a brief moment she wishes for the cheap paper napkins at their local pub.

Gillian squeezes her hand. She starts to talk, mostly to cover Caroline’s discomfort about having what is clearly an emotional moment in public. Gillian expounds on the theories in the book she is reading.

“See, The Dice Man is a psychiatrist who rolls a die every time he wants to make a decision about his life. Makes him do things he never would’ve done otherwise. He makes a list, then rolls to see what he’ll do first. Could be shopping or going somewhere or having sex or whatever.”

Gillian, constantly looking for justifications to excuse poor past behaviour, is beginning to wonder if this chancy process of decision making might have provided better outcomes than her impulse-laden mistakes. She continues merrily, “It could be a really good way of seeing what you do for the day, you know, as a way to—” it is only at this point that she notices Caroline’s bemused expression and her voice peters out with, “—do things you don’t normally do.”

Caroline looks at Gillian, an eyebrow rising seemingly without will nor effort. She takes a sip of wine, remembering a discussion with Lawrence a few years ago, when he tried to argue libertarian free will was the reason why he should bunk out of class. She tied him up in knots with the ideas of determinism and it’s soft centered cousin, compatibilism, and when that didn’t work, threatened to lock up his game console. That worked. She suspects that for Gillian, the idea that she has little control over her choices might be very seductive for someone who monumentally screws up so regularly. Caroline changes tack, mentally constructing arguments against using luck and the vicissitudes of fate and they stack up in her brain like records to be flung at an aberrant DJ. She decides to go with the simplest and hopes for the best.

“Do you think it’s wise, leaving so much to chance? So much can go wrong in life anyway, without leaving everything to the unwitting and unforeseen.”

“Don’t seem to make much difference,” Gillian grumbles, dropping her eyes to the tablecloth, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from it with a hand. It suddenly hits her that Caroline has spent the last three years grief-stricken by cruel fate; perhaps Caroline has a point. She nods. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m such a ff-bloody...”

“No. No, Gillian. You’re not. Although, perhaps it’s not a wise way to treat something as important as your life. It would be too easy to hurt people.” Caroline’s smile is full of love, one of those rare beaming smiles that could power a small village. She sits back in her chair. “How about we order? You must be starving, all those sheep to—”

“Drench. Drenching today Caz.”

“—Drench. I knew it was something with your beloved ewes. Anyway, you must be hungry.”

Crisis averted, the conversation turns to their children. They order food and when it arrives, the steak melts in Gillian’s mouth and she closes her eyes, savouring the flavour. Her dad cooks a mean steak but it is never like this. She tries to eat slowly, to enjoy every mouthful but excitement gets the better of her. All too soon they finish the main course and the waiter is handing them the dessert menu.

Caroline peruses the options, spotting two of Gillian’s favourites. “What would you like? I’m thinking we could share something.” She flips the menu over before placing it on the table. “Mousse au chocolat? Or the creme brûlée?”

Gillian’s sly grin suggests nefarious deeds of some description. Caroline looks at her suspiciously and squeaks in surprise when Gillian runs her stockinged foot up Caroline’s calf. Gillian grins at Caroline, the intensity of her gaze and the sensual and risqué nature of the touch causing warmth to flare up Caroline’s neck. Caroline wonders if this is one of Gillian’s dice man things and glares at Gillian despite the knowledge that it never works on her. Gillian smirks and raises her foot higher up Caroline’s leg, mentally placing a bet, that her foot makes it past Caroline’s knees before those eyebrows completely disappear under the blonde fringe. She chuckles when her foot makes it just above Caroline’s knee, at which point a hand grabs it firmly, stopping further ascent.

Gillian is almost leering at her. “I am thinking of you, for dessert.”

Caroline’s jaw drops open, just a bit, before she collects herself. She sits up straighter, slowly and deliberately wipes her mouth with the napkin before placing the linen carefully on the table. She looks at Gillian, cheekiness breaking through the well-groomed exterior. “Okay.” She waves her hand towards the exit. “Shall we?”

Gillian almost leaps out of her chair, her body humming with possibilities. “I’ll pay. My treat.”

“No. Nonono.” Caroline knows this place is out of Gillian’s budget by some orders of magnitude, despite the recent sale of some of Gillian’s precious ewes. “Let me. It would please me to do this for you.”

“Thank you, but no.” Gillian finds Caroline’s wrist and gently squeezes. “This is your birthday present from me, so let me.”

Caroline smiles gently, affection clearly written on her face. Granting her this liberty — while plotting to find ways to subtly reimburse Gillian if she can — Caroline’s response is simple. “Thank you.”

After settling the bill, Gillian follows Caroline towards the door. Walking past a couple quietly eating their meal, Caroline pauses and leans toward the woman conspiratorially, asking, “Hello. Sorry to interrupt. Would you please tell me a number between one and six?”

The woman looks at her nonplussed, fork still in the air. She thinks for a moment before suggesting, “Four?”

“Thank you.” Caroline smiles sweetly and turns to Gillian, her eyes blazing in sultry anticipation. “Well, thinking about dessert, you have your work cut out for you.”

Gillian snorts. “Four!” She steps close Caroline, fingers sliding seductively over a hip while she whispers into her ear, “You’ll be lucky to be awake for two.”

“You shouldn’t have brought up_ The Dice Man_ at dinner then. You only have yourself to blame.” The prospect of frisky birthday delights is evident in Caroline’s swagger as she leaves the restaurant, blonde hair and coat flying in her wake.

Gillian follows, eyes glued to the sashaying hips in front of her, muttering under her breath, “And you won’t be able to walk tomorrow if it’s four...”

* * *

_The Dice Man_ by George Cockcroft writing as Luke Rhinehart, 1971  
_Anywhere, Anytime_ by Beau Taplin, from _Worlds of You_, 2017


	5. Anywhere, anytime.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caroline and Gillian go to a club and Caroline finds a way to rebel.

Gillian readjusts her outfit as she steps out of the cab, a bit awkward in her dressy frock. It is a tighter fit than she is used to, and much shorter. As a matter of pride Gillian had initially refused Caroline’s offer to buy it, despite how well it hugged her svelte body but the hungry look in Caroline’s eyes had finally changed her mind... well that and the massive snog jammed up against the wall in the changing rooms, which had lowered her resistance to Caroline’s particular brand of persuasion. Caroline had been very smug and had nearly skipped out of the store with the new purchase as Gillian followed in her wake, lipstick smudged on her bruised lips and a happily bewitched expression on her face.

The frock is one part of Caroline’s birthday present to Gillian and the excursion tonight is another. Caroline gamely promised to go wherever Gillian wanted — anywhere, anytime — and now they are standing outside a dingy club on a Saturday night, something Caroline hasn’t done in over twenty years and would happily avoid for the next hundred.

Caroline casts a critical eye over the outside of the club, the flaking paint and fading posters advertising a string of has-been regulars giving it a decidedly dowdy facade. A new poster, hastily pasted over the old, brightly trumpets an 80s karaoke night.

“I hate karaoke,” Caroline whines, the comment escaping despite her best efforts to play the supportive girlfriend.

“That’s ‘coz you’re dead inside.”

“You didn’t think that last night,” Caroline quips.

“And weren’t you singing a merry tune then, old girl?” Gillian smirks.

“Yes, well...” As the instigator of that particular encounter, Caroline almost has the grace to look a little chastened. “Shall we?” Caroline indicates the door of the club, her rationale being the sooner it starts the sooner the misery might end. She is used to putting a brave face on things she doesn’t want to do, but seeing Gillian twitch with excitement as they step inside provides a half-arsed dose of second-hand enthusiasm.

Weaving their way through the eclectic crowd, Gillian clutches Caroline’s hand with a grip of steel, unwilling to lose her in the throng. The vibrant 1980s pop music pumps through the speakers, the DJ warming up the crowd for the night’s proceedings. As they muscle their way to the bar, the neon lighting of the bottles of spirits beguile them with the promise of fortifying alcohol. Caroline presses up against Gillian, almost shouting into her ear above the din to ask what she wants to drink. The soft skin of Gillian’s cheek, with its gentle fuzz of fine hair, is a visceral reminder of the previous night and Caroline briefly closes her eyes. She presses herself tighter into Gillian, glad for the excuse of the packed club. There is something about hiding in plain sight that rouses her and she slides a hand seductively over Gillian’s bottom. Gillian tilts her head to look at Caroline, green eyes glowing. “Oh, you’re frisky tonight.”

A young man barges past them in desperation to get a drink, shoving them even closer together and pushing Gillian into the bar. Gillian feels the heat of her lover as Caroline clutches onto her for stability in the swarming mob. She swallows, needing something to distract her from her rising desire. Flourishing along with her lust is the ever-present temptation to abandon what little good sense she has. Gillian turns her head until her lips tickle the soft shell of Caroline’s ear.

“Get me a whisky. Double.”

Caroline nods, the instruction heard and understood. It’s been a long time since her student days at Oxford, but she recognises the need for instant mood-altering booze when she hears it. She waves to the bartender. The butch-looking 20 year old takes the order and smirks at Caroline while pouring the drinks. Caroline is in the process of handing over the £50 note when Gillian sculls one of the whiskies, slams down the glass and bellows, “Caz! Get us a large Midori!” over the din.

Caroline looks at her with alarm. Clearly Gillian has a very different night in mind to her own thoughts of a slightly more civilized outing. She wonders how long it will take before Gillian gets messy and mentally kicks herself for thinking it would be anything else. Caroline nods and shouts to the bartender, who only moves her gaze from staring at Caroline’s breasts to pour them two large green drinks over ice.

The handsome bartender leans in when handing over the change, winks salaciously, and yells, “Nice to see you here, Dr Elliot,” causing Caroline to blanch, finally recognising a differently coiffed student from a few years ago. Apparently Melanie, the clever and insubordinate arts student who aced her A levels, is now an out lesbian who tends the bar in a seedy part of Leeds and flirts with women older than her mother. Not feeling a day over 400, Caroline grabs the last whisky and downs it, then sculls the Midori. Clearly Gillian has the right idea; legless is the only way to go.

Fortified for the moment, Gillian grabs Caroline’s hand and wends her way through people of all shapes, colours and accoutrements to the middle of the throng, where a slightly rapturous group of middle-aged queers are thrashing about, much of it involving jerking arms and hair tossing. It strikes Caroline that the moves she did so casually in the 80s and 90s will now involve many visits to the physiotherapist and a month of recovery.

Holding tightly to Caroline’s waist, Gillian commences bouncing along to Adam and the Ants, drawing a laugh from Caroline. _Antmusic_ isn’t her thing, but Gillian’s excitement is contagious and Caroline finds it hard to resist. It isn’t long before the DJ shifts the mood to something slower and Caroline recognises the Stranglers’ _Golden Brown_. It hits her that she’s dancing to a song about kinky sex while Gillian swings her arms about her head, grinning like a fox in a henhouse. Caroline takes it as a symbol for the year, with her messianic yearning for sanity outwitted by often ponderous and definitely pointless reality. The booze surfs through her blood and she finally lets go, joining Gillian in the madness.

Caroline finds it easy to be carried along by Gillian, the crowd and the thumping music. She’s entranced by the pulsing lights that occasionally flash over the heads of the punters, revealing many ecstatically inspired by liquor and drugs, and others in various stages of foreplay. It’s been a long time since she’s been out with so many queers and she soaks in the friendly sense of home that surrounds her. She wraps her arms around Gillian and buries her head in Gillian’s neck, the scent of her skin warm and enticing. She doesn’t anticipate it nor fathom it’s boundaries but rebellion reaches in and grabs her firmly. Long buried under decades of the fear of opprobrium, Caroline feels the compulsion to misbehave. She uses the cover of the darkness and the crush of the horde to let her hands wander without witness, Gillian’s tight dress a soft covering of the skin she longs to feel under her fingers. It doesn’t escape her notice that her mini rebellion is hidden by the lack of illumination, but for the moment she is a revolutionary, bold and challenging. She reclaims a small part of herself, staking a queer flag in the Territory of Caroline.

Gillian moans as Caroline’s hand glides up her thigh, tilting her head to rest on Caroline’s shoulder, her arms pulling Caroline closer still. She doesn’t know what has changed for Caroline but she can feel the shift. For Caroline to instigate such a sensual exploration in public, even something so discretely orchestrated, is dangerous and thrilling. However, it is the validation of them as a couple that bleeds through her skin to connect at a deeper level. Gillian holds onto Caroline, the security of them a buffer of warmth before the fire of lust drives her to lick the scent and salt off Caroline’s neck. She follows it with soft kisses trailing up Caroline’s jaw until their mouths meet and their kiss deepens.

Caroline grips Gillian tightly, their connection solid while they sway with the multitude like sea grass in the tide. As birthday’s go, she thinks, this one’s a keeper.

* * *

This is the first part of this scene. It’s set in a karaoke bar; someone has to sing.

_“I hate karaoke.”_  
_“That’s ‘coz you’re dead inside.”_  
From _Scott & Bailey_ by Sally Wainwright, 2011-2016

_Anywhere, Anytime_ by Beau Taplin, from _Worlds of You, _2017


	6. One day you catch a glimpse of them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a karaoke bar; someone has to sing.

Gillian looks directly into brilliant blue eyes and asks the question Caroline least expects; “Will you sing for me?”

Caroline freezes, the horror of it beyond imagining. Their arms are wrapped around each other as they stand in the middle of the dance floor, the only stationary couple in the seething swamp of sweaty bodies flinging themselves about to the pulsing 80s synth of Bronsky Beat. The young man on the stage dramatically grabs his fluorescent T-shirt as he builds to the anthem, screaming “I feel love,” into the microphone while Caroline is certain that what she feels right now is absolutely not that.

Caroline is well on the way to plastered, swimming through a 1980s karaoke night in a seedy bar in Leeds. She’s never sung in front of Gillian so can’t begin to understand how the farmer came up with such a calamitous idea. She crosses her arms stroppily, hoping it indicates an adequate level of disapproval while offering some degree of emotional protection. She stands in tight-lipped silence, swaying slightly, hoping her non-answer will answer for her.

Gillian clasps gentle hands around Caroline’s wrists and slowly unwraps them from in front of Caroline’s body, pulling down the literal and metaphoric barrier. Not normally given to pleading, Gillian gives it a shot. “P-please? I know you can. Sing that is. I’ve heard you.”

“When?” The question suggests there might have been a time this extraordinary event had occurred, but Caroline follows it quickly with denial, the over-used strategy of anyone wanting to avoid the inevitable. “No you haven’t. I don’t sing.”

“Caaaaaz, I’ve heard you.” Gillian shakes Caroline’s arms affably. “William got his voice from you. Please will you sing?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No!”

“For my birthday?”

Caroline knows this is the last straw on top of the haystack on top of the fucking Library of Alexandria, just before the lot goes up in flames. She looks up at the ceiling, which may as well be four galaxies away for all the help it offers. She sees only the dark night of nothingness but it doesn’t stop her imagining matte black paint covered in generations of steamed sweat and nicotine and god-knows-what body secretions. She considers making a run for it in her barely-holding-it-together panic rather than sing karaoke, but even in their fairly sloshed state she knows that Gillian is faster and has a good grip on her wrists. She’s doomed.

She sighs and drops her head so she can look Gillian in the eyes. “You really want me to?” she asks, softly enough that Gillian has to guess what she’s saying.

“Yes. I do.”

Caroline closes her eyes, the blade of capitulation pressing threateningly on her throat. Her eyes pop open. “Okay.”

Gillian’s face erupts into a broad smile that radiates like the sun, bathing Caroline in warmth. This expansive happiness fills Caroline with possibilities. She might have caved earlier if she’d known she could give Gillian this amount of joy. She lifts her hands to hold Gillian’s face tenderly, kissing her softly. “Anything in particular?”

Gillian can barely stop her beaming smile for long enough to form words, but Caroline can just make out, “Belinda Carlisle.”

_Summer Rain_ was the song Gillian heard Caroline sing to Flora two months ago. Home unexpectedly, she’d watched from the doorway as Caroline sang and danced in an energetic throwback to the 80s, which involved hips and arms and hair. Flora clapped and laughed and loved every minute of the private performance, but what Gillian saw was just how strong was the connection between parent and child. She had been equally transfixed by Caroline’s ability to switch effortlessly from singing with the melody to harmonizing perfectly with the voice on the radio. Gillian couldn’t believe she’d stumbled across a better kept secret than Caroline’s buried-for-twenty-years sexuality. It was this revelation that had inspired their adventure tonight.

Caroline’s eyebrows rise and her eyes widen as the penny drops;_ Summer Rain_ was the only song she’d sung in the last decade. Her Hail Mary option to cheer up a bullied and miserable Flora had been spotted and Gillian, the dark horse, had kept shtum. She pulls Gillian into a hug, wondering how the hell she can pull it off, forming a stanchion on the dance floor as the murmuration of dancers move seductively around them.

* * *

_Go big or go home_ is the thought that churns through Caroline’s mind. She’s heard Gillian say it and is sure it comes from some movie: probably something American. She clutches hold of it desperately through a miasma of alcohol, rolling it around in her head, thankful for something to hang on to as she stumbles up the steps onto the stage.

_For Christ’s sake,_ she thinks. She has no idea why she agreed to do this but blames the number of Slippery Nipples she managed to drink on a dare with Gillian. That was only because she flatly refused to order a Slow Comfortable Screw Against The Wall from the ex-student who blatantly appreciated every opportunity to check out her tits. Sucking down so much sickly flavoured ethanol, however, did promise some horrendously technicolored extrusions at some point in her near future. _Probably shouldn’t have done that_ is the the last clear thought she has before the MC introduces himself.

The MC takes Caroline’s elbow and guides her towards the microphone and handily points out the monitor displaying the lyrics. Any voice training she’s had was far too long ago for her to remember anything more salient than the lack of preparation is likely to be a problem. She’d last sang in front of an audience when she was 15, when she’d followed Beatrice into the choir for a term. Beatrice was older and into Gary Numan; Caroline was smarter and into Beatrice. So Caroline tutored Beatrice in chemistry and Beatrice tutored Caroline in singing. It had ended when Beatrice found a boyfriend and Caroline had left the choir heartbroken. At the time Caroline had no clue about the cause of her mystifying melancholia; she’d just known that chemistry would save the day, and it had.

A fresh batch of sweat glistens on Caroline’s brow and she sways like she is sailing in heavy seas. There are times when the imbibing of lorry loads of alcohol is a blessing and not a curse, and looking out at the writhing morass of people, she knows this is one of them.

The mic is handed to her, the first bars of _‘Heaven is a place on Earth’_ pound through the speakers and Caroline’s throat goes Sahara dry. She swallows and just makes the timing of the first line, “Ooh, baby, do you know what that's worth?” She’s creaky but the crowd follows Gillian’s cue from in front of the stage and starts a slow wave of arms above their heads in time to the music.

By the time Caroline’s hit the first chorus, some semblance of a voice has returned and she’s feeling at home on the stage. It helps that she’s in front of 800 bored teenagers at least once a week; she knows how to work an audience and her confidence bubbles through. Excited by someone who can entertain a crowd and hold a tune, the mob responds energetically. A sybaritic joy of performing washes over her and she dials it up to rock star levels. Having found her sea legs somewhere in the second verse, Caroline struts around the stage, mic in hand, throwing moves like The Go-Go’s on acid.

Gillian, eyes glassy with love and B-52s, gazes adoringly at Caroline as she stalks and teases the eager dancers in front of the stage. Stopping near the end of the song, she bends a little, holding out a hand to Gillian for the penultimate verse, singing directly to her;

_“Baby I was afraid before,_  
_But I’m not afraid anymore.”_

It is at that moment, recognising the euphoria and love in Gillian’s eyes, Caroline knows something has shifted. A bolt of understanding hits her; singing is no longer tied to grief. A sense of bliss sinks into her bones as she belts out the final verse, and the bar explodes into applause and wolf-whistles.

Caroline, a thousand watt smile lighting up her face, bows wobbly and is then expeditiously ushered off the stage and down the stairs by one of the staff. The next act starts _Holding Out For a Hero_ and Caroline is hit by the bouncing Gillian in a rugby tackle of a hug.

“That was amazing! You’re amazing Caz!”

Caroline laughs brightly, relief mixing with adrenaline as Gillian lifts her off the ground like she’s just scored a try.

“Steady on. You’ll hurt your back!”

“That was brilliant! I knew you could do it.”

Caroline laughs again as she’s brought back to earth, arms circling Gillian as she leans in for a quick kiss. She presses her cheek to Gillian’s, lips gently touching Gillian’s ear. “Did you like it? It was for you.”

Gillian is so over-excited she can barely hear over the music, but somehow this sticks. No one has ever sung for her before: sung to her before. She leans back and looks deeply into Caroline’s eyes, seeing a clear and open love. It settles into her soul and she can scarcely breathe. Hand shaking, she raises a palm and cups Caroline’s face, thumb tracing the line around her mouth. “I loved it.”

She brings her lips to Caroline’s, their kiss a soft connection, full of possibilities.

Caroline smiles affectionately. She squeezes gently. “Let’s go home.”

Gillian nods. As birthday’s go, she thinks, this one’s a keeper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to VivianDarkbloom who planted the idea of ‘bad white girl dancing’ to a song by Belinda Carlisle and The Go-Gos in my head. <3
> 
> _Heaven is a place on earth, _sung by Belinda Carlisle, music and lyrics by Rick Nowels & Ellen Shipley, 1987 
> 
> _Anywhere, Anytime _by Beau Taplin, from _Worlds of You,_ 2017


End file.
